A week or two afterwards a freight train stopped by a creek some distance from the bridge, and Kit and a number of workmen got down from the caboose. A bluff sheltered the spot, and Kit was glad to get behind the trees, for the wind was keen. On the Western plains the snow is thin, and where the rises faced south the grass was dry and bleached. Winter was going but was not altogether gone, and under the boggy surface the soil was frozen. Thick clouds floated about the dreary sky and the light got faint. A flat car carried a wooden house, framed in sections, and Kit called his men.
“We’ll put up the shack, boys, and fix the stove. If you want supper and a bed, you have got to hustle.”
The house went up and was bolted fast in the dark, although to level the ground was ominously hard. The bunks were fixed and soon the stove snapped cheerfully, and one smelt coffee, frying pork, and the resin in the boards. At supper Kit’s appetite was good. At length he had got independent command and his hopes were high. He liked the gang; the muscular, white-skinned fellows were from city workshops and he thought he knew their type. He had stipulated for a first-class cook, and if good food would buy the men’s support, he must risk the company’s grumbling about the bill. Kit thought all were content and he went happily to bed.
In the morning he got to work and soon knew he had not an easy task. A solid foundation was needed to carry the big tank, but when he broke the surface the soil was like iron; storms of rain and sleet drove the men to shelter and at night the trampled slush froze. To handle the cold, sharp-edged steel was awkward, and Kit wondered whether he had not started a month too soon. All the same, speed was important and he pushed stubbornly ahead. The gang was willing and the tank began to grow.
One Saturday evening Kit went to the bridge. The big girders now spanned the river and a service locomotive pushed across the rails and ballast for the approach track. Austin had borne the winter better than Kit had expected. His skin was darkened by frost and the reflection from the snow, his step was firm and his look was tranquil. Kit knew him modestly proud, and when he studied the bridge and pictured the effort it had cost he thought Bob had some cause for satisfaction.
On the whole, Kit thought his going to the workshops was justified. Bob had seized his opportunity and, no doubt, would get his reward; moreover, in one sense, to help his friend had not cost Kit much. The trouble was, Evelyn was disappointed and perhaps thought him slack. She did not know his object for giving up his post, and, when he pondered it, he saw his not enlightening her was significant. He had not expected Evelyn to see he was forced to think for Bob, although Alison had done so and approved his resolve. Well, he was not going to bother about it. Evelyn was ambitious for him, and when the tank was finished she would know he had conquered.
The Sunday was bleak, the dinner Jock gave them was something of a feast, and in the afternoon they sat by the stove and talked. After a time Austin said: “Carrie was delighted to know the bosses sent you to put up the tanks. I’m not at all jealous, Kit, but my wife’s your admirer. You attract women of the best sort. Carrie, for example, is fastidious and cleverer than I am, but she has certainly taken a shine to you.”
Kit knew Bob, in some respects, was not clever; he did not suspect that Kit and Mrs. Austin had plotted for him to remain at the bridge.
“Oh, well,” he said with a smile, “I really think my charm’s unconscious.”
“Sometimes a charm like that is embarrassing,” Austin remarked. “Carrie, however, wants to congratulate you, and if you can stay for a week-end with us, I’d be very glad. When can you fix it?”